


Weak

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU, Graphic Rape, M/M, Rebellion, silent Starscream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron remembers the past. Starscream'd prefer him not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weak

**Author's Note:**

> Note: a response for a kinkmeme prompt:  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=13265152#t13265152
> 
> which I don't copy here, as I'd prefer people to read this without the prompt giving away the main idea.

Title: Weak  
Rating: M  
Verse: G1-ish  
Genre: drama, h/c  
Characters: Starscream, Megatron, OC  
Warnings: graphic rape, violence,  
Summary: Megatron remembers.  
Note: a response for a kinkmeme prompt:  
http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=13265152#t13265152

\------------------------------------------------------

“You imbecile!”

The furious roar was accompanied by a sputtering sound dying away in a choking gasp, several clangs of differing strength and tone and some frantic pede-steps stomping towards the door - mechs were leaving the room urgently. When the latter died down by the door slamming shut, the clanging intensified, culminating in a big bang of a heavy, metallic frame hitting the wall. Then came a screeching noise of said frame sliding down to the ground, spiced up by sputtering almost-words of a crushed vocalizer until the chassis hit the ground with a thump. 

Broken internal noises from the abused frame vied with panting vents that had an unhealthy wheeze of a misaligned fan. The laboring engine spluttered, juddering, the joints, trying to move creaked and cracked before one popped out of its place and with a pained yell the frame fell forward in slow motion. The kick that caught him in the cockpit threw him back into the wall and the shards of the reinforced glass tinkled deceptively musically as they fell all over the winged frame. 

The settling shards caught the light from overhead, their tiny prisms breaking the beams of the standard white light into myriads of miniature rainbows, covering up the broken, trembling and heaving frame in their tenuous, barely-there but beautiful defense. The movements in the room stopped, the sounds silenced suddenly at the small but unexpected miracle. It lasted barely a klik before the injured mech moved, as to trying to get up and the innocently twinkling, rainbow stars got snuffed out around him. The miracle was broken.

But it didn’t go away without an effect.

Megatron stared at the mangled, bleeding frame at his pedes for another eternally long breem. He made no move either to help the clawing-struggling-wheezing form, nor to kick him back to the ground when Starscream managed to get onto his knees, holding one broken-jointed arm with the other servo, bleeding energon profusely. He just stared as the room was lost in a fog and pictures of his own started rolling in his meta, like an old, static-laden, black and white film noir… from megavorns ago. 

-o-o-o-

_Megatron stretched his back-struts as he stepped out of the mine entrance, straightening out from the customary stoop that was a must in the underground tunnels. It was already the dark cycle and having worked for two consecutive shifts even his great strength was sapped. They worked more and more each vorn it seemed, for less credits than in his youth and it wasn’t even that long ago when he first set a pede among the deceptively twinkling walls of the energon-mine. Again, he could not go to the gathering on the main square, the supervisors declaring a compulsory extra cycle for today’s shift._

_He knew that it wasn’t accidental or even economy-related. It was to deprive the speakers from their most eager audience, the miners like himself. But he wasn’t fully satisfied with the ever-changing orators either, who were inevitably politicians or businessmechs out of Iacon, seeking only support for their campaigns, their political careers, forgetting every promise they made straight after the elections. They only preached better life, less work and cheaper energon – they never actually delivered them as far as Megatron remembered._

_So he didn’t mind the missed gathering too much. Collecting his meager pay after standing in the silent, grim queue for what seemed joors, he trudged through the dirty streets, his great stature that exuded strength discouraging the always present beggars, thieves and the even worse scum who’d slit a main tube for a credit or a mouthful of energon. He bought a cube for himself at one of the better stands, where he could still trust it not only to be full but fairly clean as well and set his steps towards his home._

_It was barely more than a cubicle to recharge in and ensure that he wasn’t attacked while offline. It didn’t have any amenities and he had to pay even more credits at the public wash-racks if he didn’t want the crystalline dust of the mined energon to cake into his joints and eventually eat through their structure. He knew enough miners who let personal hygiene slip and ended up disabled, unable to work or seek medical attention… and finally deactivate in destitution while younger than himself. But by this vorn, he too got to the point where his pay was barely enough for the energon necessary to work and hardly covering anything else._

_Not that he wanted a lot, no. He was a loner by nature and watched the mated pairs and trines with a faint bemusement, unable to get what brought and kept them together. He never felt any such stirrings, never needed another mech close to feel all right. Nor was he much for the blissful haze of cheap high-grade that robbed mechs of their ability to think and defend themselves. He felt all right alone, thank you very much. Friendships and mates required a trust and resulted in a hold that he never wanted to give to any other mech over himself, loss of control over his frame was a shuddering idea. They were weaknesses and those always got exploited sooner or later._

_Megatron drank the cube slowly, savoring the taste. It was fairly good as energons went but he contemplated to switch to a cheaper brand to be able to wash at least occasionally. He needed to look better than a dirty beggar, had to look a mech others would listen to. For now he’d have to be content with a solvent-soaked cloth to wipe himself down a bit to make himself presentable. He left the recharge cubicle only slightly more energetic than before and walked briskly to a place he knew he had no reason or authorization to be and would be in trouble if caught._

_The lower levels were even darker than the streets, with lighting only occasionally flickering among the rust-eaten walls of the dust-choked corridors. Mechs who came here usually found their way by sensors and night vision, only some of them able to afford or dare to bring a flashlight that would give them away. Megatron of course had no problem with the pitch darkness. His mine-trained sensors easily told him where he was and which way he got to go. As he neared the gathering place, he saw and heard the others approaching as well, silent ghosts moving surreally in the faint light._

_They had a good crowd this orn, he noted with satisfaction after entering the echoing cavern that was their target. After a vorn of patiently talking to his fellow miners, to the energon-selling storekeepers and the mech at the public racks, enough mechs listened to him and started to take notice of what he was saying. Enough of them were taken by his ideas to start imparting them to others in their own circles, enough of them were starting to understand what he was saying and start actively helping him, forming a small but trustworthy inner circle of mechs around him._

_Because they knew that he wasn’t one of the lying and popularity-gathering politicians on the main street podiums, promising everything with words dripping with sweetness and deleting Kaon and its miners from their memory-banks once they got themselves elected to the Senate. He was one of them, knowing how hard it was to do the back-strut breaking work orn in and orn out for next to no pay and exploited by the mine-owners. He was one of them who knew how prices went up while pays down and shift got longer. He knew how similar the situation was everywhere on Cybertron, because he was one of the few who could actually read and access more information than the official broadcasts._

_The entertainment channels only chanted syrupy lies and showed happy crowds eager to do their work and enjoy their well-earned pay in various ways. Only… he never saw those happy crowds on the streets, nor has he ever met a mech who has. Those were just drugs to keep the simple mechs in the bottom of society uneducated and led to believe that everything was just fine. He spoke the truth that they could see and thus he was believed and followed. It sometimes surprised him, because he didn’t think that he talked about unusual or extreme things, he never promised his fellow miners that the Well of Sparks would come to Kaon and energon would freely flow on the streets._

_He only wanted honest work and enough pay for it to raise sparklings and educate them. Okay, maybe a miner or two in the Senate, jut to tell those fraggers how the other half lived, because they obviously had no idea about it. Fraggitall, he’d only wanted what should be natural for all Cybertronians, if the priests were to be believed. Not that he was particularly religious, since the priests’ speeches had the same quality as the politicians; like they only said nice things to shut them up and do their work._

_By the end of the meeting Megatron felt drained as usual. The long, mindless shifts in the mines and the trying speech afterwards, the myriad questions from the gathered mechs, the encouragement for them, the promises, the organization – he wasn’t made for such processor-straining work. But no mech else seemed to want to do it, noone among his growing circle showed leadership qualities. So, Megatron trudged on and learned to be a leader by trial and error, by sheer determination and by his personality, that, unknown to him then has drawn mechs around him to drink his fumbling, uneducated but already rousing speeches._

_It was deep into the dark cycle, closer to the next one than the one before when they started to break up. Even longer when his small but growing inner circle left, each mech disappearing like a ghost among the indifferent dimness of the tunnels. Shadows of limbs, wheels, even that of a rare wing were painted by the dim lighting to the rough walls as they moved out. Soundwave left last, the telepath warning him that some higher ups got wind of his meetings and were asking about him among the miners. Megatron dismissed the blue mech’s concerns – surely he wasn’t important enough for the ones in power to spy on. He was just a miner and miners were dumb brutes, as far as the upper circles knew._

_Soundwave though, remained uneasy, citing the suddenly silenced other cells in Tarn and Vos, their leaders disappearing and not heard of since. There was a squad leader in Praxus who disappeared too, he recounted with terse words, and when he got back he was… changed. He told his followers to stay calm and endure, he told them that things would get better if they didn’t do anything rash, he told them that it was Primus’s will to set each to their places and unwise to want to change the order. The telepath warned him that such change did not come naturally to a mech._

_He didn’t believe him, not yet. He was naïve somewhat still, unable to believe that the entirety of their world was corrupt, selfish and cruel. He knew that it was, oh, he did. But some vestige of weakness in him still had him believe that he was wrong and change could be made by wanting it enough and working for it. So he dismissed the concern, only secretly warmed by the worry the telepath showed towards him, bemused by the unfamiliar emotion._

-o-o-o-

He stared at Starscream’s broken frame, losing its beautiful rainbows as he moved and felt something unwanted stirring in his processor. He squashed it before it could be identified and turned away from the broken flier, shut out the wheezing sounds of his pain, the choked words of his crushed vocalizer. Starscream shuffled on his knees, seemingly unsure of which direction he’d wanted to go, his left servo still holding the other, broken arm dangling on a few cables to save it from falling off. 

“Get out.” 

The choking noises intensified. Megatron knew that the Seeker was cursing him with the vilest expressions he knew and had he been able to say them out loud, it would have earned him another beating. But he was in a strange mood and so he overlooked the sounds that the crushed vocalizer made behind him. A clang warned him, Starscream’s broken arm falling off, as the working one made an effort to lift a shaking null-ray to his leader. Megatron spun back fast, kicking the weapon away and stomping on the arm mercilessly. Starscream should have known better. 

He was weak and weakness was to be exploited. The Seeker never learned this, never used the one hold he had over his leader, never even mentioned it to anyone. He was always trying to win their encounters within some kind of an honour-code, some misguided sense of nobility that had absolutely no place in a war. It was tiring after a few megavorns, to see Starscream do the same motions over and over again and have himself react the same way, putting his Second to his place, teaching again to the Seeker just who was weak. 

The sounds of shrill pain exchanged the earlier mumbled curses as he continued to grind the arm into the floor. Starscream could wail without a vocalizer apparently, his processor noted rather detachedly. In nearly slow motion he kicked the kneeling Seeker back into the wall, into the sea of broken glass shards, into the rainbows… and his memory banks took it as another invitation to take another trip into the past. Megatron shook his helm but it didn’t help, the pictures came tumbling, rolling, unwanted…

-o-o-o-

_The attack was brutally efficient and the lone, unsuspecting miner had no chance against the Enforcers swooping down on him from every direction, with weapons blazing, shots grazing his armor, shooting out his legs, disabling his arms before he could make any move. Megatron felt himself falling like a broken pillar in the mine and frames were on him as soon as he hit the ground. The grips were strong, almost as strong as his and there were many of them, holding him down efficiently, cuffing his servos, his pedes, one pulling back his helm to slap a muffler over his vocalizer. Then thoroughly restrained, he was pulled up and felt servos fumbling at his medical port, slipping a code in and with his processor shutting down, darkness set in before he could make any effort to resist._

_When Megatron came online his first thought was that he will refuse to admit to Soundwave that he was right. The next one, right on the heel of the first that he very much hoped to see Soundwave again to say that to the telepath. Because he wasn’t sure that it would happen. Not after feeling his frame strung up like a turbofox to be pelted and most of his heavy miner’s armor removed, baring sensitive protoform to the world. The world which he couldn’t see, his optics apparently disconnected._

_“He’s awake.”_

_The voice was elegant and cultured, much like the nobles on the entertainment channels, the tone slightly bored and disdainful, like he was annoyed by having to be in the same room as a dirty miner._

_“Your designation is Megatron?”_

_Another voice, cool, lacking any emotion in its diamond hardness that cut audials. What would he loose by answering, he wondered, settling on a cautious, sparing answer._

_“Yes.”_

_“You are charged by seeding dissent, spread discontent and organize a rebellion. How do you plead?”_

_Was there any chance that they would release him again? Unlikely. Still, only a fool admitted anything for the first question._

_“I taught my fellow mechs the truth.”_

_“Ohh, it is rich!” – the disdaining voice spoke up suddenly – “He thinks he can slip out of the charges! How quaint!”_

_“If you don’t answer, the charges will stand and you’ll be deactivated.”_

_The other voice was probably an Enforcer’s. Dry, clipped tone, delivering the sentences without any emotion, moving very little, unlike the noblemech who sauntered all over the place._

_“I plead innocent.”_

_“The evidence against you says otherwise, miner Megatron and the judge decided against you. Your statement would need a lot more in evidence to be considered.”_

_“Then why are you asking?”_

_“Because we can postpone the execution if certain… circumstances are met.”_

_“What circumstances?”_

_“Repent and help the rightful authorities.”_

_“Betray my friends and be your obedient dog? Never.”_

_“Your kind is our obedient dog!” – the noblemech was suddenly close to his audial, grabbing his helm and whispering into it viciously – “And I will teach you that!”_

_“I’m nomech’s dog!” – he snarled back, his stronger voice easily drowning out the noble’s whisper, yanking his helm away, out of the grip._

_“I take that as an answer and leave you to your fate.”_

_The Enforcer left the room, his voice already bored and his processor on the next case. He was fairly sure that the big miner wouldn’t break – the info they gathered on him suggested an exceptionally strong determination - but Goldcrest was welcome to try. The noblemech was a veritable sadist who enjoyed the so-called breaking of suspects far too much and he had no wish to see the noble’s handiwork or have to clean up after him._

-o-o-o-

Megatron stood gazing out of his window for quite a while, watching the film reel in his processor, absentmindedly listening to the pained sounds behind him. Starscream obviously couldn’t stand or leave nor could he comm to his Trine-mates to help him and Megatron was overcame by a strange stupor. It kept him frozen, with his servo halfway to his lipplates with a cube of high-grade, his vacant stare fastened on his own faint reflection on the dark pane of glassteel. He watched his frame, so strong and massive, the armour so impenetrable and threatening… but once he was divested of it, bared open and vulnerable. Weak.

He threw the energon back suddenly, like wanting to burn away that last thought. Tearing his red gaze from his reflection Megatron turned back, towards the mangled remains of the Seeker. Starscream could only crawl a mechanometer or so in the last few breems, lacking working servos and legs, but his vocalizer repaired itself fast; the curses were still mangled, like his frame, but nearing to be understandable. The tyrant watched his second struggle with a detached interest. Starscream was no danger right now, therefore not worth of attention.

Absolutely not worth any, he reinforced the notion inwardly with a sneer. He was only watching the Seeker because his ineffectual struggle amused him. In time, when he got bored with him, he’d probably call one of his trine-mates to have them carry Starscream to med-bay. But until then… Megatron moved unhurriedly across his room to get himself another cube from the dispenser and for some hazy reason avoided stepping on some twitching digits on his way.

He nearly turned back to stomp on them but that would seem to be… forced, he supposed. He wasn’t going to show any mercy or any more attention to Starscream who craved for it like always. The Seeker went too far this time, releasing the prisoner before he could be interrogated properly. No matter the reason he tried to say, it was treason. So what if Vortex raped the mech? No matter that he never allowed that, it was his, Megatron’s place to punish the mad copter and not Starscream’s - and absolutely nothing excused letting the Autobot SIC go just like that. It was a war and they needed the information that they could glean from a high-ranking Autobot officer.

The cube spun in the air when he suddenly threw it, light flashing from the translucent sides. Is flight was short until it met the wall, where it shattered, settling down slowly on yet another area of flooring that got to be covered in the glittering shards. Starscream suddenly fell silent, one working but still dim optic brightened as he tried to focus. The shattering noise of the energon cube too died down, enveloping the room in a welcome silence. It has always been Starscream’s worse, most annoying trait never to be able to stay silent for more than a klik. No surprise that he always, inevitably went for the mech’s vocalizer first.

But in the silence, the film started to roll again.

-o-o-o-

_“I like it when they try to fight back… so fight miner Megatron! Resist me and I’ll make it memorable… for me of course!”_

_The noblemech whispered into his audial from behind and Megatron forced back a shudder. The tone changed from its earlier bored disdain and was now downright sadistic, brimming with a cruel glee at having a victim at his disposal. It was nauseating to hear and know that he had no way of breaking the energon bindings and with those restraining him completely, the mech could do to him whatever he pleased. He’d heard whispers of such nobles, where servants mysteriously disappeared, where Enforcers got treated with feasts and bribes, where even respectable merchants feared to venture to offer their wares._

_Blinding pain nailed suddenly into his waist and he tried to lurch forward, away from it. But the talons – since when have nobles worn talons? – held him fast, their needle-sharp tips dug into his protoform, the serrated edges tearing through his plates as he pulled them down, into his hips, leaving burning tracks of bleeding wounds in their wake. Megatron knew pain. He’s been caught in mine-collapses, crushed partially and left there for joors before they were dug out. He’s been in fights, been punished by the mine-owner for fighting, so he thought he knew all about pain and could withstand it._

_But this sensation, this tearing, slow rending of his protometal was something entirely new. It carved not only into his frame but into his processor as well, eroding his determination with the surety of promise, of far more and worse to come. The serrated claws rent a perfect arc into his frame, from his lower back down to his hips, curving inwards on his backside and disappearing between his spread-open thighs. Where they left, the tips have torn small scraps of protoflesh out, peaking the pain momentarily till he nearly screamed. Rivulets of energon ran down on his plating, the warm flow disturbed only by the shaking that started up in his abused legs._

_“Oh yes… you liked that, don’t you? Big miner, strong miner… ohh, how beautiful you’ll be under me where your place should be, taken, broken, used…”_

_“N-never…” – Megatron hated that small stutter with the strength of a thousand suns. He knew that the noblemech would torture him, has already started it, but he’d resist with all he had, until he could. It wasn’t much, but to have his voice so weak, so soon was disturbing._

_“Soon…” – the hated whisper promised him cruelly and the talons returned, digging into his upper back this time, nearly to the shoulders and his arms jerked in the bonds. But this time they didn’t carve their burning tracks into him, just stabbed in and left, tearing out protoform, slashing tubes and wires that went there in greater number than in his hips. The shock to his sensornet was worse too this time, as many systems started to clamor their damage reports to his processor at once, the bindings that held him up cut into his suddenly weakening arms._

_Then needle-sharp tips found their way into the shoulder joints and Megatron couldn’t help but scream at the blinding pain as the joint was casually mangled by the cruel talons. He threw his helm back and cables tensed all over his frame, to try, no matter how impossible it felt, to escape from the chains’ embrace, from the torture of those viciously slowly sliding, gliding, rending and tearing claws. He panted between the screams, hating the sound, hating the mech, hating the world that put him into this…_

_“Yes… scream for me…”_

_He felt the slightly smaller frame move closer, its disgusting heat all over his bleeding back, rubbing on the slickening metal, his field a nauseating mess of sadist intentions and vicious lust, choking his own. Megatron knew then that this mech would not be satisfied by simply torturing him. He wanted more, the sick pleasure of taking an unwilling mech’s valve, a crime most Cybertronians considered to be the greatest one, beyond even willful murder or blasphemy against Primus._

_But he wasn’t going to beg, as it would not deter the pervert in the slightest, in fact it was probably exactly what he wanted to hear, what turned him on. Thus the slow, drawn out torture, the pain to soften him up, the hints of what was coming. Too bad that realizing it did nothing to alleviate the pain or the terror that started to envelop his processor. Megatron knew that it would hurt. A lot. As he has never been with any mech before, failing to feel any interest in the act, it would hurt like Pitfire and would probably damage him internally too._

_The talons on one servo ripped into his interface panel that has not been removed before and with a sudden, sharp sting tore it off. Instinct made him try to close his legs but the cables strained in vain and the mech just laughed behind him at the futile effort and forced him to bend forward. He wasn’t stronger, but the restraints were done in a way to let him do this while giving the suspended victim no chance to move or escape. His bared valve elicited another cruel, slow laugh from the noble and a sharp, and already energon-coated talon-tip circling the trembling entrance, drawing a drop of energon from a shallow cut. It stung rather annoyingly in the background canvas of the greater pain._

_“Ohh… an untouched… my, my… I’ll really enjoy this. Too bad that you, miner Megatron… won’t.”_

-o-o-o-

Starscream warbled something with his slowly resetting vocalizer, low enough that Megatron could safely ignore him still. Not that he wanted the memories instead, not those. He trembled inwardly and a weigh settled in the pit of his fuel tank that was decidedly unpleasant. Megatron felt nausea flutter in there, beside the weight but ruthlessly forced it all down. He stared at the still-downed Seeker who was dragging himself towards the door inch by energon-smeared inch by his ruined servos.

Why? He chased away the question as soon as it rose from the cluttered, slightly dazed depths of his processor. He didn’t need it. He was strong, he didn’t have to concern himself with such questions. They were for the weak, they were for those, like Starscream, who couldn’t conquer the world, couldn’t take what they wanted and had to be content with asking inane questions and pretend that the answers, the _understanding_ of it was worth having.

Once, he was asking them too, Megatron admitted it in the privacy of his processor. He wanted to know _why_ their world worked the way it did, _what_ caused the rich to exploit the poor, and _how_ the system could be bettered. The warlord snorted, the sound strangely echoing in his quarters, reverberating around, much like rainbow light did from the shards. Has Starscream got silent again? No matter. He’d learned one important lesson way back, megavorns ago. As long as he was the strongest, he could make the necessary changes instead of asking insignificant little questions about their world in a misguided attempt to understand it.

It was too bad the lesson had to hurt so much.

-o-o-o-

_There was no warning, no sign, no preparation. One klik the mech was whispering slowly, cruelly to him, the next he rammed his overlarge spike into the dry and sealed valve, tearing through the platelets at the entrance and the soft metal of the seal behind it. Megatron screamed so high and loud that his vocalizer immediately cut out to restart and the scream gurgled away into static. The pain was incredible. Nothing, absolutely nothing in his life compared to its burning, melting, shocking intensity. It cleaved him into half and burned its mark into his inner protoform, his straining cables and limbs that tried to kick out, to grasp the air, to tear himself off of the restraints rather than having to withstand a klik more of this agony._

_But he couldn’t and the agony didn’t end for all his fervent wishes and broken screams. The spike rammed deep, the noblemech holding his talons hooked into his hips again and forced himself even deeper into the tight, spasming passage, uncaring of the pain and damage he was causing. He got off on it, he so loved seeing and feeling the twisting, jerking frame under him, hearing the screams and sobs that accompanied the frenzied effort to escape from the pain he caused. He had his spike modded for size and shape so he could tear into the biggest mechs as well as his own frame size or smaller too._

_Megatron was barely conscious, his processor nearly swamped by the agony, but the sadist behind him knew exactly how to cause the most pain without his victim able to escape into offlining. He paused after ramming his spike into the deepest node in the valve, thoroughly enjoying the situation, the stretch and pull of the strong cables in a great frame under him, the incredibly delicious, tight clutch of the virgin valve, barely slicked by the energon from burst tubes, spasming with the agony of the tears he caused. It took a lot of his determination to hold himself back and give the miner a chance to gather his wits and remain online for more but he waited._

_Megatron purged the remaining dregs of semi-processed energon from his tanks in great heaves. The slagger was just holding him in the midst of agony, his efforts to free his limbs were useless, even after he tore the armour open around his wrists with the restraints and energon started to drip from there too. His legs, he hardly even felt any more, beyond that they were trembling and very much like roasting on slow fire. But the worse was the scorching-hot shaft that impaled him and now stopped within the burning center of the maelstrom that it caused, deceptively unmoving, promising even worse to come._

_And it came. Megatron hardly even convinced his processor into functioning again instead of glitching from the pain when the oversized, studded spike pulled out roughly, scraping at the abraded, torn walls and rammed back, to flame the pain up anew. He couldn’t help screaming again, unable to mute his vocalizer, his processor shattering at every thrust. He only hoped that he wasn’t begging to stop, because after some kliks he was hardly aware of what his frame was doing beyond hurting._

_Megatron hoped that the pain would max out soon. It was inconceivable that the howling agony could still grow, it could still feel worse at ever thrust into his valve. He couldn’t take much more. Could he take this much even, he wondered, before his frame gave up and shut down for good? There were so many damage reports on his HUD that it was impossible to see them all, even if he had a working processor to do so, which he didn’t at the moment._

_A particularly vicious thrust made his back-struts bow nearly to breaking and the other mech clanged on his aft, roaring his victorious release into the pain-filled atmosphere of the room. Something hot erupted from the spike, stinging the torn walls with its scorching hot spill that splashed out, dripping beside the impaling rod, oozing down nauseatingly on his trembling thigh-plates. It mixed with the energon still dripping from his wounds, quickening its pace towards the ground, sliding down in rivulets and formed puddles on the ground._

_“Ohhh… that was extremely satisfying… almost like a well-trained whore with a new valve.”_

_The noblemech’s voice was slightly breathless, sated and so satisfied with himself that Megatron purged again, this time from his nausea at the perversion of the mech, a noble who should have been an example of their species, one worthy to be followed… but then he used to be naïve. Past tense and all that. Way past tense. He’d never be that naïve again, that trusting or even just moderately optimistic._

-o-o-o-

Starscream gave up moving again and lay in the puddle of his own fluids, cheeping quietly in a way a mech did when loosing consciousness, the remains of his wings fluttering weakly. Megatron knew that he should call some mech to take the Seeker away if he wanted to retain his treacherous Air Commander. The mech looked like he was on the last leg of his journey, where the finish-line was in the Well of Sparks. 

He was like that once. Maybe… maybe that’s what Starscream needed to see, but Megatron rather doubted it. His Second was very different mech than he, acting and reacting from experiences out of his own unique background, his frametype… Seekers and their slagging honour-code. Starscream and his fragging _honour_ that made him… no, not more than him, never more… but gave him a card that he could hold over Megatron. 

Could… but never did. And no matter how much he beat the Seeker to slag, sent him to the edge of deactivation, Starscream never used that knowledge against him. Everything else he did, but not this. Megatron never understood it, but then he never dared to ask. He would never ask anything while he could take, it became his mantra in that room, then his philosophy and he stuck to it ever since. And whoever cared if the early friends and followers who trusted him and believed what he’d said became in time underlings who were afraid of him and skeptic to the Decepticon cause?

But he stepped there to stand above the Seeker, optics sweeping over the mangled frame, carefully examining the injuries on those marvelous wings. They were the symbol of the Seeker’s inner strength, but also his weakness; so easy to hurt and still so strong to lift him to the sky. He hurt them because Starscream must learn to protect his own weakness and he’d repeat the lesson until it took. That the orn when it did would likely to be his own deactivation was beside the point. 

Bending slowly he grabbed an energon-stained servo and growled when it came away and the pained keening intensified. Where…? He caught hold of one shoulder, lifting the Seeker who looked like he’d fall apart from a stronger grip and set him down into a chair beside his table. Starscream’s dark helm lolled forward strutlessly, remaining arm dangling by the chair, his optics not even trying to power up any more. Megatron threw the detached arm onto his lap and returned to his film…

-o-o-o-

_If he thought that that was it and the noblemech would let him be executed in – relative – peace, then Megatron was sorely mistaken. After the brutal rape that left him reeling in agony, his helm was again forced back and something cold and hard forced between his lipplates, stretching them around the object, causing him to drool which, mixed with the taste of his own purged energon made a disgusting feel on his glossa. He tried to switch on his optics but remembered that they were offlined by the Enforcers and he decided that he really did not want to see the mech. If he survived, revenge would be his without the sight, if he didn’t he’d come back to haunt the slagger anyway._

_When something big was pressed into his mouth, Megatron felt processed energon and a bitter, unknown taste on it and it took him very little time to identify the object. Especially as it was rammed into his mouth and down his intakes exactly as it was thrust into his valve. It hurt slightly less this way, but in exchange it was far more disgusting, causing him to try to retch - unsuccessfully as he had nothing remained in his tank to purge. He also felt the ridges and bumps on the spike that tore up his valve so much but the knowledge didn’t make him any happier. The servos with their vicious talons held his helm in a strong grip, making him unable to pull back, forcing it down, onto the thrusting spike._

_Even though the thrusting pelvic plates dented his lips and his nasal ridge, the huge spike abraded his intake to the point of actual injury there – the fragger seemed to go for it, changing the angle of thrust until he found the most painful one – this rape was actually less painful, albeit more humiliating that the first. Just… nothing helped the furnace of agony that existed in his valve and didn’t show any signs of abating._

_Even the rush of transfluid down his intakes was more bearable and Megatron was glad that he couldn’t scream by now. His sounds were down to whimpering, keening and words seemed to swim away even in his processor. He was shattered, ruined and utterly humiliated – just as the mech promised. But he wasn’t broken, or so he believed. He didn’t particularly wanted to beg the mech to stop or offer him to do the job they wanted just to let off of the hook and maybe fixed. The only problem was that he was slipping towards unconsciousness fast, energon loss and the injuries making him worry if he’d ever come online again._

_He didn’t really feel any more when the noblemech pulled out satisfied, shaking the last drops of transfluid onto his faceplates and pronounce him to the cleaning mechs deactivated or as near as to make no difference. The guards and cleaners who cut him off of the restraints saw no reason to question that judgment, nor have they wanted to. The energon-streaked, mangled, once silvery frame was thrown out to the scrapheap, to rust into deactivation, the rebel’s case closed down with the mark of execution on the file._

_Megatron was thoroughly out when a winged shape landed beside him, its pure, clean and freshly waxed colours completely out of place for the rusting, dirty pieces of torn metals that lay haphazardly about amidst stale energon and rotten oil puddles. The Seeker bent, listening for a sparkbeat and after finding one he lifted the much bigger frame with difficulty. He staggered beneath the weight and for a klik annoyance distorted the dark faceplates, the blue servos made an aborted move to push the silvery ones back down the ground._

_But he shouldered the bigger frame again and took off._

-o-o-o-

Starscream was almost bearable while offline, the thought flitted through Megatron’s processor, not knowing that the Seeker echoed the same sentiment about him often. He was certainly good-looking, even with half of his armour torn off or mangled. Useful too, at least most of the time when he didn’t think too much of himself and acted on orders instead of his own instincts or that fragging honour code. When kept at his place by frequent dressing downs, Megatron could even incorporate some of his ideas into his plans. 

Besides, he thought wryly, that fragging Autobot SIC was a hard nut to crack, as not even Soundwave could get into the mech’s processor. So it wasn’t as big a loss that Starscream let the mech go. He was sufficiently punished for it, Vortex would be disciplined and made to understand that this one rule was inviolate even in interrogation and… and life could go on normally in the Decepticon army. Well. As normally as it could be called that.

And maybe next time he’d ask Starscream _why_.


End file.
